A Jonesboro negro, while waiting for the train to go out, met up with Uncle Remus. After the usual "time of day" had been passed between the two, the former inquired about an acquaintance.
"How's Jeems Rober'son?" he asked.
"Dat I ain't," responded the other; "I ain't hear talk er Jem sence he cut loose fum de chain-gang. Dat w'at make I ax. He ain't down wid de biliousness3, is he?"
"Not dat I knows un," responded Uncle Remus, gravely. "He ain't sick, an' he ain't bin4 sick. He des tuck'n say he wuz gwineter ride dat ar roan mule5 er Mars John's de udder Sunday, an' de mule, she up'n do like she got nudder ingagement. I done bin fool wid dat mule befo', an' I tuck'n tole Jim dat he better not git tangle6 up wid 'er; but Jim, he up'n 'low dat he wuz a hoss- doctor, an' wid dat he ax me fer a chaw terbacker, en den7 he got de bridle8, en tuck'n kotch de mule en got on her—Well," continued Uncle Remus, looking uneasily around, "I speck10 you better go git yo' ticket. Dey tells me dish yer train goes a callyhootin'."
"Hol' on dar, Uncle Remus; you ain't tell me 'bout Jim," exclaimed the Jonesboro negro.
"I done tell you all I knows, chile. Jim, he tuck'n light on de mule, an' de mule she up'n hump 'erse'f, an den dey wuz a skuffle, an' w'en de dus' blow 'way, dar lay de nigger on de groun', an' de mule she stood eatin' at de troff wid wunner Jim's gallusses wrop 'roun' her behime-leg. Den atterwuds, de ker'ner, he come 'roun', an' he tuck'n gin it out dat Jim died sorter accidental like. Hit's des like I tell you: de nigger wern't sick a minnit. So long! Bimeby you won't ketch yo' train. I got ter be knockin' long."
II. UNCLE REMUS'S CHURCH EXPERIENCE
THE deacon of a colored church met Uncle Remus recently, and, after some uninteresting remarks about the weather, asked:
"How dis you don't come down ter chu'ch no mo', Brer Remus? We er bin er havin' some mighty13 'freshen' times lately."
"Hit's bin a long time sence I bin down dar, Brer Rastus, an' hit'll be longer. I done got my dose."
"You ain't done gone an' unjined, is you, Brer Remus?"
"Not zackly, Brer Rastus. I des tuck'n draw'd out. De members 'uz a blame sight too mutuel fer ter suit my doctrines14."
"How wuz dat, Brer Remus?"
"Well, I tell you, Brer Rastus. W'en I went ter dat chu'ch, I went des ez umbill ez de nex' one. I went dar fer ter sing, an' fer ter pray, an' fer ter wushup, an' I mos' giner'lly allers had a stray shin-plarster w'ich de ole 'oman say she want sont out dar ter dem cullud fokes 'cross de water. Hit went on dis way twel bimeby, one day, de fus news I know'd der was a row got up in de amen cornder. Brer Dick, he 'nounced dat dey wern't nuff money in de box; an' Brer Sim said if dey wern't he speck Brer Dick know'd whar it disappeared ter; an' den Brer Dick 'low'd dat he won't stan' no 'probusness, an' wid dat he haul off an' tuck Brer Sim under de jaw15—ker blap!—an' den dey clinched16 an' drapped on de flo' an' fout under de benches an' 'mong de wimmen.
"'Bout dat time Sis Tempy, she lipt up in de a'r, an' sing out dat she done gone an tromple on de Ole Boy, an' she kep' on lippin' up an' slingin' out 'er han's twel bimeby—blip!—she tuck Sis Becky in de mouf, an' den Sis Becky riz an' fetch a grab at Sis Tempy, an' I 'clar' ter grashus ef didn't 'pear ter me like she got a poun' er wool. Atter dat de revivin' sorter het up like. Bofe un um had kin9 'mong de mo'ners, an' ef you ever see skufflin' an' scramblin' hit wuz den an' dar. Brer Jeems Henry, he mounted Brer Plato an' rid 'im over de railin', an' den de preacher he start down fum de pulpit, an' des ez he wuz skippin' onter de platform a hym'-book kotch 'im in de bur er de year, an I be bless ef it didn't soun' like a bung-shell'd busted18. Des den, Brer Jesse, he riz up in his seat, sorter keerless like, an' went down inter12 his britches atter his razer, an' right den I know'd sho' nuff trubble wuz begun. Sis Dilsey, she seed it herse'f, an' she tuck'n let off wunner dem hallyluyah hollers, an' den I disremember w'at come ter pass.
"I'm gittin' sorter ole, Brer Rastus, an' it seem like de dus' sorter shet out de pannyrammer. Fuddermo', my lim's got ter akin19, mo' speshully w'en I year Brer Sim an' Brer Dick a snortin' and a skufflin' under de benches like ez dey wuz sorter makin' der way ter my pew. So I kinder hump myse'f an' scramble21 out, and de fus man w'at I seed was a pleeceman, an' he had a nigger 'rested, an' de fergiven name er dat nigger wuz Remus."
"He didn't 'res' you, did he, Brer Remus?"
"Hit's des like I tell you, Brer Rastus, an' I hatter git Mars John fer to go inter my bon's fer me. Hit ain't no use fer ter sing out chu'ch ter me, Brer Rastus. I done bin an' got my dose. W'en I goes ter war, I wanter know w'at I'm a doin'. I don't wanter git hemmed22 up 'mong no wimmen and preachers. I wants elbow-room, an I'm bleedzd ter have it. Des gimme elbow-room."
"But, Brer Remus, you ain't—"
"I mout drap in, Brer Rastus, an' den ag'in I moutn't, but w'en you duz see me santer in de do', wid my specs on, you k'n des say to de congergashun, sorter familious like, 'Yer come ole man Remus wid his hoss-pistol, an' ef dar's much uv a skuffle 'roun' yer dis evenin' you er gwineter year fum 'im.' Dat's me, an' dat's what you kin tell um. So long! Member me to Sis Abby."
III. UNCLE REMUS AND THE SAVANNAH DARKEY
THE notable difference existing between the negroes in the interior of the cotton States and those on the seaboard—a difference that extends to habits and opinions as well as to dialect—has given rise to certain ineradicable prejudices which are quick to display themselves whenever an opportunity offers. These prejudices were forcibly, as well as ludicrously, illustrated23 in Atlanta recently. A gentleman from Savannah had been spending the summer in the mountains of north Georgia, and found it convenient to take along a body-servant. This body- servant was a very fine specimen24 of the average coast negro— sleek25, well-conditioned, and consequential—disposed to regard with undisguised contempt everything and everybody not indigenous26 to the rice-growing region—and he paraded around the streets with quite a curious and critical air. Espying27 Uncle Remus languidly sunning himself on a corner, the Savannah darkey approached.
"Mornin', sah."
"I'm sorter up an' about," responded Uncle Remus, carelessly and calmly. "How is you stannin' it?"
"Tanky you, my helt' mos' so-so. He mo' hot dun in de mountain. Seem so lak man mus' git need*1 de shade. I enty fer see no rice-bud in dis pa'ts."
"In dis w'ich?" inquired Uncle with a sudden affectation of interest.
"In dis pa'ts. In dis country. Da plenty in Sawanny."
"Plenty whar?"
"Da plenty in Sawanny. I enty fer see no crab28 an' no oscher; en swimp, he no stay 'roun'. I lak some rice-bud now."
"You er talkin' 'bout deze yer sparrers, w'ich dey er all head, en 'lev'm un makes one mouffle,*2 I speck," suggested Uncle Remus. "Well, dey er yer," he continued, "but dis ain't no climate whar de rice-birds flies inter yo' pockets en gits out de money an' makes de change derse'f; an' de isters don't shuck off der shells en run over you on de street, an' no mo' duz de s'imp hull20 derse'f an' drap in yo' mouf. But dey er yer, dough29. De scads 'll fetch um."
"Him po' country fer true," commented the Savannah negro; "he no like Sawanny. Down da, we set need de shade an' eaty de rice-bud, an' de crab, an' de swimp tree time de day; an' de buckra man drinky him wine, an' smoky him seegyar all troo de night. Plenty fer eat an' not much fer wuk."
"Hit's mighty nice, I speck," responded Uncle Remus, gravely. "De nigger dat ain't hope up 'longer high feedin' ain't got no grip. But up yer whar fokes is gotter scramble 'roun' an' make der own livin', de vittles w'at's kumerlated widout enny sweatin' mos' allers gener'ly b'longs ter some yuther man by rights. One hoe- cake an' a rasher er middlin' meat las's me fum Sunday ter Sunday, an' I'm in a mighty big streak30 er luck w'en I gits dat."
The Savannah negro here gave utterance31 to a loud, contemptuous laugh, and began to fumble32 somewhat ostentatiously with a big brass33 watch-chain.
"But I speck I struck up wid a payin' job las' Chuseday," continued Uncle Remus, in a hopeful tone.
"Wey you gwan do?"
"Oh, I'm a waitin' on a culled34 gemmun fum Savannah—wunner deze yer high livers you bin tellin' 'bout."
"How dat?"
"I loant 'im two dollars," responded Uncle Remus, grimly, "an' I'm a waitin' on 'im fer de money. Hit's wunner deze yer jobs w'at las's a long time."
The Savannah negro went off after his rice-birds, while Uncle Remus leaned up against the wall and laughed until he was in imminent35 danger of falling down from sheer exhaustion36.
*1 Underneath37. *2 Mouthful.
"Heyo!" said one, "here comes Uncle Remus. He look like he gwine fer ter set up a bo'din-house."
Several others bantered40 the old man, but he appeared to be in a good humor. He was carrying a huge basket of vegetables.
"How many er you boys," said he, as he put his basket down, "is done a han's turn dis day? En yit de week's done commence. I year talk er niggers dat's got money in de bank, but I lay hit ain't none er you fellers. Whar you speck you gwineter git yo' dinner, en how you speck you gwineter git 'long?"
"Oh, we sorter knocks 'roun' an' picks up a livin'," responded one.
"Dat's w'at make I say w'at I duz," said Uncle Remus. "Fokes go 'bout in de day-time an' makes a livin', an' you come 'long w'en dey er res'in' der bones an' picks it up. I ain't no han' at figgers, but I lay I k'n count up right yer in de san' en number up how menny days hit'll be 'fo' you 'er cuppled on ter de chain- gang."
"De ole man's holler'n now sho'," said one of the listeners, gazing with admiration41 on the venerable old darkey.
"I ain't takin' no chances 'bout vittles. Hit's proned inter me fum de fus dat I got ter eat, en I knows dat I got fer ter grub for w'at I gits. Hit's agin de mor'l law fer niggers fer ter eat w'en dey don't wuk, an' w'en you see um 'pariently fattenin' on a'r, you k'n des bet dat ruinashun's gwine on some'rs. I got mustard, en poke42 salid, en lam's quarter in dat baskit, en me en my ole 'oman gwineter sample it. Ef enny you boys git a invite you come, but ef you don't you better stay 'way. I gotter muskit out dar w'at's used ter persidin' 'roun' whar dey's a cripple nigger. Don't you fergit dat off'n yo' mine."
V. A CONFESSION43
"W'AT'S dis yer I see, great big niggers gwine 'lopin' 'roun' town wid cakes 'n pies fer ter sell?" asked Uncle Remus recently, in his most scornful tone.
"That's what they are doing," responded a young man; "that's the way they make a living."
"Dat w'at make I say w'at I duz—dat w'at keep me grum'lin' w'en I goes in cullud fokes s'ciety. Some niggers ain't gwine ter wuk nohow, an' hit's flingin' way time fer ter set enny chain-gang traps fer ter ketch um."
"Well, now, here!" exclaimed the young man, in a dramatic tone, "what are you giving us now? Isn't it just as honest and just as regular to sell pies as it is to do any other kind of work?"
"'Tain't dat, boss:' said the old man, seeing that he was about to be cornered; 'tain't dat. Hit's de nas'ness un it w'at gits me."
"Oh, get out!"
"Dat's me, boss, up an' down. Ef dere's ruinashun ennywhar in de known wurril, she goes in de comp'ny uv a hongry nigger w'at's a totin' pies 'roun.' Sometimes w'en I git kotch wid emptiness in de pit er de stummuck, an' git ter fairly honin' arter sumpin' w'at got substance in it, den hit look like unto me dat I kin stan' flat-footed an' make more cle'r money eatin' pies dan I could if I wuz ter sell de las' one 'twixt dis an' Chris'mus. An' de nigger w'at k'n trapes 'round wid pies and not git in no alley-way an' sample um, den I'm bleedzd ter say dat nigger out- niggers me an' my fambly. So dar now!"
VI. UNCLE REMUS WITH THE TOOTHACHE
WHEN Uncle Remus put in an appearance one morning recently, his friends knew he had been in trouble. He had a red cotton handkerchief tied under his chin, and the genial44 humor that usually makes his aged45 face its dwelling-place had given way to an expression of grim melancholy46. The young men about the office were inclined to chaff47 him, but his look of sullen48 resignation remained unchanged.
"What was the color of the mule that did the hammering?" asked another.
But Uncle Remus remained impassive. He seemed to have lost all interest in what was going on around him, and he sighed heavily as he seated himself on the edge of the trash-box in front of the office. Finally some one asked, in a sympathetic tone:
"What is the matter, old man? You look like you'd been through the mill."
"Now you 'er knockin'. I ain't bin thoo de mill sence day 'fo' yistiddy, den dey ain't no mills in de lan'. Ef wunner deze yer scurshun trains had runned over me I couldn't er bin wuss off. I bin trompin' 'roun' in de lowgroun's now gwine on seventy-fi' year, but I ain't see no sich times ez dat w'at I done spe'unst now. Boss, is enny er you all ever rastled wid de toofache?"
"Oh, hundreds of times! The toothache isn't anything."
"Den you des played 'roun' de aidges. You ain't had de kine w'at kotch me on de underjaw. You mout a had a gum-bile, but you ain't bin boddered wid de toofache. I wuz settin' up talkin' wid my ole 'oman, kinder puzzlin' 'roun' fer ter see whar de nex' meal's vittles wuz a gwineter cum fum, an' I feel a little ache sorter crawlin' 'long on my jaw-bone, kinder feelin' his way. But de ache don't stay long. He sorter hankered 'roun' like, en den crope back whar he come fum. Bimeby I feel 'im comin' agin, an' dis time hit look like he come up closer—kinder skummishin' 'roun' fer ter see how de lan' lay. Den he went off. Present'y I feel 'im comin', an' dis time hit look like he kyar'd de news unto Mary, fer hit feel like der wuz anudder wun wid 'im. Dey crep' up an' crep' 'roun', an, den dey crope off. Bimeby dey come back, an' dis time dey come like dey wuzzent 'fear'd er de s'roundin's, fer dey trot52 right up unto de toof, sorter 'zamine it like, an' den trot all roun' it, like deze yer circuous hosses. I sot dar mighty ca'm, but I 'spected dat sump'n' wuz gwine ter happ'n."
"And it happened, did it?" asked some one in the group surrounding the old man.
"Boss, don't you fergit it," responded Uncle Remus, fervidly53. "W'en dem aches gallop54 back dey galloped55 fer ter stay, an' dey wuz so mixed up dat I couldn't tell one fum de udder. All night long dey racked an' dey galloped, an' w'en dey got tired er rackin' an' gallopin', dey all close in on de ole toof an' thumped56 it an' gouged57 at it twel it 'peared unto me dat dey had got de jaw-bone loosened up, an' wuz tryin' fer ter fetch it up thoo de top er my head an' out at der back er my neck. An' dey got wuss nex' day. Mars John, he seed I wuz 'stracted, an' he tole me fer ter go roun' yere an' git sump'n' put on it, an' de drug man he 'lowed dat I better have 'er draw'd, an' his wuds wuzzent more'n col' 'fo' wunner deze yer watchyoumaycollums— wunner deze dentis' mens—had retched fer it wid a pa'r er tongs58 w'at don't tu'n loose w'en dey ketches a holt. Leas'ways dey didn't wid me. You oughter seed dat toof, boss. Hit wuz wunner deze yer fo'-prong fellers. Ef she'd a grow'd wrong eend out'ard, I'd a bin a bad nigger long arter I jin'd de chu'ch. You year'd my ho'n!"
VII. THE PHONOGRAPH
"UNC REMUS," asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, who was one of a crowd surrounding the old man, "w'at's dish 'ere w'at dey calls de fonygraf—dish yer inst'ument w'at kin holler 'roun' like little chillun in de back yard?"
"I ain't seed um," said Uncle Remus, feeling in his pocket for a fresh chew of tobacco. "I ain't seed um, but I year talk un um. Miss Sally wuz a readin' in de papers las' Chuseday, an' she say dat's it's a mighty big watchyoumaycollum."
"A mighty big w'ich?" asked one of the crowd.
"A mighty big w'atsizname," answered Uncle Remus, cautiously. "I wuzzent up dar close to whar Miss Sarah wuz a readin', but I kinder geddered in dat it wuz one er deze 'ere w'atzisnames w'at you hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder. Hit's mighty funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an' prognosticate der eckoes inter one er deze yer i'on boxes, an' dar hit'll stay on twel de man comes long an' tu'ns de handle an' let's de fuss come pilin' out. Bimeby dey'll git ter makin' sho' nuff fokes, an' den dere'll be a racket 'roun' here. Dey tells me dat it goes off like one er deze yer torpedoes59."
"You year dat, don't you?" said one or two of the younger negroes.
"Dat's w'at dey tells me," continued Uncle Remus. "Dat's w'at dey sez. Hit's one er deze yer kinder w'atzisnames w'at sasses back w'en you hollers at it."
"W'at dey fix um fer, den?" asked one of the practical negroes.
"Dat's w'at I wanter know," said Uncle Remus, contemplatively. "But dat's w'at Miss Sally wuz a readin' in de paper. All you gotter do is ter holler at de box, an' dar's yo' remarks. Dey goes in, an' dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you shakes de box, an' den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer fishes w'at you git fum Savannah, an' you ain't got time fer ter look at dere gills, nudder."
VIII. RACE IMPROVEMENT
"Dere's a kind er limberness 'bout niggers dese days dat's mighty cu'us," remarked Uncle Remus yesterday, as he deposited a pitcher60 of fresh water upon the exchange table. "I notisses it in de alley-ways an on de street-cornders. Dey er rackin' up, mon, deze yer cullud fokes is."
"The old man's mind is wandering," said the society editor, smoothing the wrinkles out of his lavender kids.
Uncle Remus laughed. I speck I is a gittin' mo frailer61 dan I wuz 'fo' de fahmin days wuz over, but I sees wid my eyes an' I years wid my year, same ez enny er dese yer young bucks62 w'at goes a gallopin' roun' huntin' up devilment, an' w'en I sees de limberness er dese yer cullud people, an' w'en I sees how dey er dancin' up, den I gits sorter hopeful. Dey er kinder ketchin' up wid me."
"How is that?"
"Oh, dey er movin'," responded Uncle Remus. "Dey er sorter comin' 'roun'. Dey er gittin' so dey bleeve dat dey ain't no better dan de w'ite fokes. W'en freedom come out de niggers sorter got dere humps up, an' dey staid dat way, twel bimeby dey begun fer ter git hongry, an' den dey begun fer ter drap inter line right smartually; an' now," continued the old man, emphatically, "dey er des ez palaverous ez dey wuz befo' de war. Dey er gittin' on solid groun', mon."
"You think they are improving, then?"
"You er chawin' guv'nment now, boss. You slap de law onter a nigger a time er two, an' larn 'im dat he's got fer to look after his own rashuns an' keep out'n udder fokes's chick'n-coops, an' sorter coax63 'im inter de idee dat he's got ter feed 'is own chilluns, an' I be blessed ef you ain't got 'im on risin' groun'. An', mo'n dat, w'en he gits holt er de fack dat a nigger k'n have yaller fever same ez w'ite folks, you done got 'im on de mo'ners' bench, an' den ef you come down strong on de p'int dat he oughter stan' fas' by de fokes w'at hope him w'en he wuz in trouble de job's done. W'en you does dat, ef you ain't got yo' han's on a new-made nigger, den my name ain't Remus, an' ef dat name's bin changed I ain't seen her abbertized."
IX. IN THE ROLE OF A TARTAR
A CHARLESTON negro who was in Atlanta on the Fourth of July made a mistake. He saw Uncle Remus edging his way through the crowd, and thought he knew him.
"Howdy, Daddy Ben?" the stranger exclaimed. "I tink I nubber see you no mo'. Wey you gwan? He hot fer true, ain't he?"
"Daddy who?" asked Uncle Remus, straightening himself up with dignity. "W'ich?"
"I know you in Char'son, an' den in Sewanny. I spec I dun grow away from 'membrance."
"You knowed me in Charlstun, and den in Savanny?"
"He been long time, ain't he, Daddy Ben?"
"Dat's w'at's a pesterin' un me. How much you reckon you know'd me?"
"He good while pas'; when I wer' pickaninny. He long time ago. Wey you gwan, Daddy Ben?"
"W'at does you season your recollection wid fer ter make it hol' on so?" inquired the old man.
"I dunno. He stick hese'f. I see you comin' 'long 'n I say 'Dey Daddy Ben.' I tink I see you no mo', an' I shaky you by de han'. Wey you gwan? Dey no place yer wey we git wine?"
Uncle Remus stared at the strange darkey curiously64 for a moment, and then he seized him by the arm.
"Come yer, son, whar dey ain't no folks an' lemme drap some Jawjy 'intment in dem years er yone. You er mighty fur ways fum home, an' you wanter be a lookin' out fer yo'se'f. Fus and fo'mus, you er thumpin' de wrong watermillion. You er w'isslin' up de wrong chube. I ain't tromped roun' de country much. I ain't bin to Charlstun an' needer is I tuck in Savanny; but you couldn't rig up no game on me dat I wouldn't tumble on to it de minit I laid my eyeballs on you. W'en hit come to dat I'm ole man Tumbler, fum Tumblersville—I is dat. Hit takes one er deze yer full-blooded w'ite men fur ter trap my jedgment. But w'en a nigger comes a jabberin' 'roun' like he got a mouf full er rice straw, he ain't got no mo' chance long side er me dan a sick sparrer wid a squinch-owl. You gutter65 travel wid a circus 'fo' you gits away wid me. You better go long an' git yo' kyarpet-sack and skip de town. You er de freshest nigger w'at I seen yit."
The Charleston negro passed on just as a police-man' came up.
"Boss, you see dat smart Ellick?"
"Yes, what's the matter with him?"
"He's one er deze yer scurshun niggers from Charlstun. I seed you a-stannin' over agin de cornder yander, an' ef dat nigger'd a draw'd his monty kyards on me, I wuz a gwineter holler fer you. Would you er come, boss?"
"Why, certainly, Uncle Remus."
"Dat's w'at I 'low'd. Little more'n he'd a bin aboard er de wrong waggin. Dat's w'at he'd a bin."
"YOU'VE been looking like you were rather under the weather for the past week or two, Uncle Remus," said a gentleman to the old man.
"Where have you been?"
"Pear ter me like eve'ybody done year 'bout dat. Dey ain't no ole nigger my age an' size dat's had no rattliner time dan I is."
"A kind of picnic?"
"Go long, boss! w'at you speck I be doin' sailin' 'roun' ter dese yer cullud picnics? Much mo' an' I wouldn't make bread by wukkin' fer't, let 'lone68 follerin' up a passel er boys an' gals69 all over keration. Boss, ain't you year 'bout it, sho' 'nuff?"
"I haven't, really. What was the matter?"
"I got strucken wid a sickness, an' she hit de ole nigger a joe- darter 'fo' she tu'n 'im loose."
"What kind of sickness?"
"Hit look sorter cu'ous, boss, but ole an' steddy ez I is, I tuck'n kotch de meezles."
"Oh, get out! You are trying to get up a sensation."
"Hit's a natal70 fack, boss, I declar' ter grashus ef 'tain't. Dey sorter come on wid a col', like—leas'ways dat's how I commence fer ter suffer, an' den er koff got straddle er de col'—one dese yer koffs w'at look like hit goes ter de foundash'n. I kep' on linger'n' 'roun' sorter keepin' one eye on the rheumatiz an' de udder on de distemper, twel, bimeby, I begin fer ter feel de trestle-wuk give way, an' den I des know'd dat I wuz gwineter gitter racket. I slipt inter bed one Chuseday night, an' I never slip out no mo' fer mighty nigh er mont'.
"Nex' mornin' de meezles 'd done kivered me, an' den ef I didn't git dosted by de ole 'oman I'm a Chinee. She gimme back rashuns er sassafac tea. I des natchully hankered an' got hongry atter water, an ev'y time I sing out fer water I got b'ilin' hot sassafac tea. Hit got so dat w'en I wake up in de mornin' de ole 'oman 'd des come long wid a kittle er tea an' fill me up. Dey tells me 'roun' town dat chilluns don't git hurted wid de meezles, w'ich ef dey don't I wanter be a baby de nex' time dey hits dis place. All dis yer meezles bizness is bran'-new ter me. In ole times, 'fo' de wah, I ain't heer tell er no seventy-fi'- year-ole nigger grapplin' wid no meezles. Dey ain't ketchin' no mo', is dey, boss?"
"Oh, no—I suppose not."
"'Kase ef dey is, you k'n des put my name down wid de migrashun niggers."
WHEN Uncle Remus went down to the passenger depot72 one morning recently, the first sight that caught his eye was an old negro man, a woman, and two children sitting in the shade near the door of the baggage-room. One of the children was very young, and the quartet was altogether ragged73 and forlorn-looking. The sympathies of Uncle Remus were immediately aroused. He approached the group by forced marches, and finally unburdened his curiosity.
"Whar is you m'anderin' unter, pard?"
The old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious, looked at Uncle Remus coolly, and appeared to be considering whether he should make any reply. Finally, however, he stretched himself and said:
"We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tallypoosy, an we ain't makin' no fuss 'bout it, nudder."
"I disremember," said Uncle Remus, thoughtfully, "whar Tallypoosy is."
"Oh, hit's out yan," replied the old man, motioning his head as if it was just beyond the iron gates of the depot. "Hit's down in Alabam. When we git dar, maybe well go on twel we gits ter Massasip."
"Is you got enny folks out dar?" inquired Uncle Remus.
"None dat I knows un."
"An' you er takin' dis 'oman an' deze chillun out dar whar dey dunno nobody? Whar's yo' perwisions?" eying a chest with a rope around it.
"Dem's our bedcloze," the old negro explained, noticing the glance of Uncle Remus. "All de vittles what we got we e't 'fo' we started."
"An' you speck ter retch dar safe an soun'? Whar's yo' ticket?"
"Ain't got none. De man say ez how dey'd pass us thoo. I gin a man a fi'-dollar bill 'fo' I lef' Jonesboro, an' he sed dat settled it."
"Lemme tell you dis," said Uncle Remus, straightening up indignantly: "you go an' rob somebody an' git on de chain-gang, an' let de 'oman scratch 'roun' yer an' make 'er livin'; but don't you git on dem kyars—don't you do it. Yo' bes' holt is de chain-gang. You kin make yo' livin' dar w'en you can't make it no whars else. But don't you git on dem kyars. Ef you do, you er gone nigger. Ef you ain't got no money fer ter walk back wid, you better des b'il' yo' nes' right here. I'm a-talkin' wid de bark on. I done seed deze yer Arkinsaw emmygrants come lopin' back, an' some un 'em didn't have rags nuff on 'em fer ter hide dere nakidness. You leave dat box right whar she is, an, let de 'oman take wun young un an you take de udder wun, an' den you git in de middle er de big road an' pull out fer de place whar you come fum. I'm preachin' now."
Those who watched say the quartet didn't take the cars.
XII. AS A MURDERER
UNCLE Remus met a police officer recently.
"You ain't hear talk er no dead nigger nowhar dis mawnin', is you, boss?" asked the old man earnestly.
"No," replied the policeman, reflectively. "No, I believe not. Have you heard of any?"
"'Pears unter me dat I come mighty nigh gittin' some news bout dat size, an' dat's w'at I'm a huntin' fer. Bekaze ef dey er foun' a stray nigger layin' 'roun' loose, wid 'is bref gone, den I wanter go home an' git my brekfus' an' put on some clean cloze, an' 'liver myse'f up ter wunner deze yer jestesses er de peace, an git a fa'r trial."
"Why, have you killed anybody?"
"Dat's w'at's I'm a 'quirin' inter now, but I wouldn't be sustonished ef I ain't laid a nigger out some'rs on de subbubs. Hit's done got so it's agin de law fer ter bus' loose an' kill a nigger, ain't it, boss?"
"Well, I should say so. You don't mean to tell me that you have killed a colored man, do you?"
"I speck I is, boss. I speck I done gone an' done it dis time, sho.' Hit's bin sorter growin' on me, an' it come ter a head dis mawnin', 'less my name ain't Remus, an' dat's w'at dey bin er callin' me sence I wuz ole er 'nuff fer ter scratch myse'f wid my lef' han'."
"Well, if you've killed a man, you'll have some fun, sure enough. How was it?"
"Hit wuz dis way, boss: I wuz layin' in my bed dis mawnin' sorter ruminatin' 'roun', when de fus news I know'd I year a fus' 'mong de chickens, an' den my brissels riz. I done had lots er trubble wid dem chickens, an' w'en I years wun un um squall my ve'y shoes comes ontied. So I des sorter riz up an' retch fer my ole muskit, and den I crope out er de back do', an' w'atter you reckin I seed?"
"I couldn't say."
"I seed de biggest, blackest nigger dat you ever laid eyes on. He shined like de paint on 'im was fresh. He hed done grabbed fo' er my forwardes' pullets. I crope up nigh de do', an' hollered an' axed 'im how he wuz a gittin' on, an' den he broke, an' ez he broke I jammed de gun in de small er his back and banged aloose. He let a yell like forty yaller cats a courtin', an' den he broke. You ain't seed no nigger hump hisse'f like dat nigger. He tore down de well shelter and fo' pannils er fence, an' de groun' look like wunner deze yer harrycanes had lit dar and fanned up de yeath."
"Why, I thought you killed him?"
"He bleedzed ter be dead, boss. Ain't I put de gun right on 'im? Seem like I feel 'im give way w'en she went off."
"Was the gun loaded?"
"Dat's w'at my ole 'oman say. She had de powder in dar, sho', but I disremember wedder I put de buckshot in, er wedder I lef' um out. Leas'ways, I'm gwineter call on wunner deze yer jestesses. So long, boss."
XIII. HIS PRACTICAL VIEW OF THINGS
"BRER REMUS, is you heern tell er deze doin's out yer in de udder eend er town?" asked a colored deacon of the church the other day.
"W'at doin's is dat, Brer Ab?"
"Deze yer signs an' wunders whar dat cullud lady died day 'fo' yistiddy. Mighty quare goin's on out dar, Brer Remus, sho's you bawn."
"Sperrits?" inquired Uncle Remus, sententiously.
"Wuss'n dat, Brer Remus. Some say dat jedgment day ain't fur off, an' de folks is flockin' 'roun' de house a hollerin' an' a- shoutin' des like dey wuz in er revival. In de winder glass dar you kin see de flags a flyin', an' Jacob's lather74 is dar, an' dar's writin' on de pane75 w'at no man can't read—leas'wise dey ain't none read it yit."
"W'at kinder racket is dis you er givin' un me now, Brer Ab?"
"I done bin dar, Brer Remus; I done seed um wid bofe my eyes. Cullud lady what wuz intranced done woke up an' say dey ain't much time fer ter tarry. She say she meet er angel in de road, an' he p'inted straight fer de mornin' star, an' tell her fer ter prepar'. Hit look mighty cu'us, Brer Remus."
"Cum down ter dat, Brer Ab," said Uncle Remus, wiping his spectacles carefully, and readjusting them—"cum down ter dat, an' dey ain't nuthin' dat ain't cu'us. I ain't no spishus nigger myse'f, but I 'spizes fer ter year dogs a howlin' an' squinch- owls76 havin' de agur out in de woods, an' w'en a bull goes a bellerin' by de house den my bones git col' an' my flesh commences fer ter creep; but w'en it comes ter deze yer sines in de a'r an' deze yer sperrits in de woods, den I'm out—den I'm done. I is, fer a fack. I bin livin' yer more'n seventy year, an' I year talk er niggers seein' ghos'es all times er night an' all times er day, but I ain't never seed none yit; an' deze yer flags an' Jacob's lathers77, I ain't seed dem, nudder."
"Dey er dar, Brer Remus."
"Hit's des like I tell you, Brer Ab. I ain't 'sputin' 'bout it, but I ain't seed um, an' I don't take no chances deze days on dat w'at I don't see, an' dat w'at I sees I got ter 'zamine mighty close. Lemme tell you dis, Brer Ab: don't you let deze sines onsettle you. W'en old man Gabrile toot his ho'n, he ain't gwineter hang no sine out in de winder-panes, an when ole Fadder Jacob lets down dat lather er his'n you'll be mighty ap' fer ter hear de racket. An' don't you bodder wid jedgment-day. Jedgment- day is lierbul fer ter take keer un itse'f."
"Dat's so, Brer Remus."
"Hit's bleedzed ter be so, Brer Ab. Hit don't bodder me. Hit's done got so now dat w'en I gotter pone78 er bread, an' a rasher er bacon, an' nuff grease fer ter make gravy79, I ain't keerin' much w'edder fokes sees ghos'es er no."
UNCLE REMUS was in good humor one evening recently when he dropped casually81 into the editorial room of "The Constitution," as has been his custom for the past year or two. He had a bag slung82 across his shoulder, and in the bag was a jug. The presence of this humble83 but useful vessel84 in Uncle Remus's bag was made the occasion for several suggestive jokes at his expense by the members of the staff, but the old man's good humor was proof against all insinuations.
"Dat ar jug's bin ter wah, mon. Hit's wunner deze yer ole timers. I got dat jug down dar in Putmon County w'en Mars 'Lisha Ferryman wuz a young man, an' now he's done growed up, an' got ole an' died, an' his chilluns is growed up an' dey kin count dere gran'chilluns, an' yit dar's dat jug des ez lively an' ez lierbul fer ter kick up devilment ez w'at she wuz w'en she come fum de foundry."
"That's the trouble," said one of the young men. "That's the reason we'd like to know what's in it now.
"Now you er gittin' on ma'shy groun'," replied Uncle Remus. "Dat's de p'int. Dat's w'at make me say w'at I duz. I bin knowin' dat jug now gwine on sixty-fi' year, an' de jug w'at's more seetful dan dat jug ain't on de topside er de worrul. Dar she sets," continued the old man, gazing at it reflectively, "dar she sets dez ez natchul ez er ambertype, an' yit whar's de man w'at kin tell w'at kinder confab she's a gwineter carry on w'en dat corn-cob is snatched outen 'er mouf? Dat jug is mighty seetful, mon."
"Well, it don't deceive any of us up here," remarked the agricultural editor, dryly. "We've seen jugs85 before."
"I boun' you is, boss; I boun' you is. But you ain't seed no seetful jug like dat. Dar she sets a bellyin' out an' lookin' mighty fat an' full, an' yit she'd set dar a bellyin' out ef dere wuzzent nuthin' but win' under dat stopper. You knows dat she ain't got no aigs in her, ner no bacon, ner no grits86, ner no termartusses, ner no shellotes, an' dat's 'bout all you duz know. Dog my cats ef de seetfulness er dat jug don't git away wid me," continued Uncle Remus, with a chuckle87. "I wuz comm' 'cross de bridge des now, an' Brer John Henry seed me wid de bag slung onter my back, an' de jug in it, an' he ups an' sez, sezee:
"'Heyo, Brer Remus, ain't it gittin' late for watermillions?'
"Hit wuz de seetfulness er dat jug. If Brer John Henry know'd de color er dat watermillion, I speck he'd snatch me up 'fo' de confunce. I 'clar' ter grashus ef dat jug ain't a caution!"
"I suppose it's full of molasses now," remarked one of the young men, sarcastically88.
"Hear dat!" exclaimed Uncle Remus, triumphantly89 "hear dat! W'at I tell you? I sed dat jug wuz seetful, an' I sticks to it. I bin knowin' dat—"
"Well, I lay she's loaded, boss. I ain't shuk her up sence I drapt in, but I lay she's loaded."
"Yes," said the agricultural editor, "and it's the meanest bug- juice in town—regular sorghum91 skimmings."
"Dat's needer yer ner dar," responded Uncle Remus. "Po' fokes better be fixin' up for Chris'mus now w'ile rashuns is cheap. Dat's me. W'en I year Miss Sally gwine 'bout de house w'isslin' 'W'en I k'n read my titles cle'r—an' w'en I see de martins swawmin' atter sundown—an' w'en I year de peckerwoods confabbin' togedder dese moonshiny nights in my een er town—en I knows de hot wedder's a breakin' up, an' I know it's 'bout time fer po' fokes fer ter be rastlin' 'roun' and huntin' up dere rashuns. Dat's me, up an down."
"Well, we are satisfied. Better go and hire a hall," remarked the sporting editor, with a yawn. "If you are engaged in a talking match you have won the money. Blanket him somebody, and take him to the stable."
"An' w'at's mo'," continued the old man, scorning to notice the insinuation, "dough I year Miss Sally w'isslin', an' de peckerwoods a chatterin', I ain't seein' none er deze yer loafin' niggers fixin' up fer ter 'migrate. Dey kin holler Kansas all 'roun' de naberhood, but ceppin' a man come 'long an' spell it wid greenbacks, he don't ketch none er deze yer town niggers. You year me, dey ain't gwine."
"Stand him up on the table," said the Sporting editor; "give him room."
"Better go down yer ter de calaboose, an' git some news fer ter print," said Uncle Remus, with a touch of irony92 in his tone. "Some new nigger mighter broke inter jail."
"You say the darkeys are not going to emigrate this year?" inquired the agricultural editor, who is interested in these things.
"Shoo! dat dey ain't! I done seed an' I knows."
"Well, how do you know?"
"How you tell w'en crow gwineter light? Niggers bin prom'nadin' by my house all dis summer, holdin' dere heads high up an' de w'ites er dere eyeballs shinin' in de sun. Dey wuz too bigitty fer ter look over de gyardin' palm's. 'Long 'bout den de wedder wuz fetchin' de nat'al sperrits er turkentime outen de pine-trees an' de groun' wuz fa'rly smokin' wid de hotness. Now that it's gittin' sorter airish in de mornin's, dey don't 'pear like de same niggers. Dey done got so dey'll look over in de yard, an' nex' news you know dey'll be tryin' fer ter scrape up 'quaintence wid de dog. W'en dey passes now dey looks at de chicken-coop an' at der tater-patch. W'en you see niggers gittin' dat familious, you kin 'pen' on dere campin' wid you de ballunce er de season. Day 'fo' yistiddy I kotch one un um lookin' over de fence at my shoats, an' I sez, sez I:
"'Oh, no,' sezee, 'I wuz des lookin' at dere p'ints.'
"'Well, dey ain't p'intin' yo' way, sez I, 'an', fuddermo', ef you don't bodder longer dem hogs dey ain't gwineter clime outer dat pen an' 'tack94 you, nudder,'" sez I.
"An' I boun'," continued Uncle Remus, driving the corn-cob stopper a little tighter in his deceitful jug and gathering95 up his bag—"an' I boun' dat my ole muskit 'll go off 'tween me an' dat same nigger yit, an' he'll be at de bad een', an' dis seetful jug'll 'fuse ter go ter de funer'l."
XV. THE FLORIDA WATERMELON
"LOOK yer, boy," said Uncle Remus yesterday, Stopping near the railroad crossing on Whitehall Street, and gazing ferociously96 at a small colored youth; "look yer, boy, Ill lay you out flat ef you come flingin' yo' watermillion rimes under my foot—you watch ef I don't. You k'n play yo' pranks98 on deze yer w'ite fokes, but w'en you come a cuttin' up yo' capers99 roun me you 'll lan' right in de middle uv er spell er sickness—now you mine w'at I tell you. An' I ain't gwine fer ter put up wid none er yo' sassness nudder—let 'lone flingin' watermillion rimes whar I kin git mixt up wid um. I done had nuff watermillions yistiddy an' de day befo'."
"Hit wuz sorter like dis, boss. Las' Chuseday, Mars John he fotch home two er deze yer Flurridy watermillions, an him an' Miss Sally sot down fer ter eat um. Mars John an' Miss Sally ain't got nuthin' dat's too good fer me, an' de fus news I know'd Miss Sally wuz a hollerin' fer Remus. I done smelt101 de watermillion on de a'r, an' I ain't got no better sense dan fer ter go w'en I years w'ite fokes a-hollerin'—I larnt dat w'en I wa'n't so high. Leas'ways I galloped up ter de back po'ch, an' dar sot de watermillions dez ez natchul ez ef dey'd er bin raised on de ole Spivey place in Putmon County. Den Miss Sally, she cut me off er slishe—wunner deze yer ongodly slishes, big ez yo' hat, an' I sot down on de steps an' wrop myse'f roun' de whole blessid chunk102, 'cep'in' de rime97." Uncle Remus paused and laid his hand upon his stomach as if feeling for something.
"Well, old man, what then?"
"Dat's w'at I'm a gittin' at, boss," said Uncle Remus, smiling a feeble smile. "I santered roun' 'bout er half nour, an den I begin fer ter feel sorter squeemish—sorter like I done bin an, swoller'd 'bout fo' poun's off'n de ruff een' uv er scantlin'. Look like ter me dat I wuz gwineter be sick, an' den hit look like I wuzzent. Bimeby a little pain showed 'is head an' sorter m'andered roun' like he wuz a lookin' fer a good place fer ter ketch holt, an' den a great big pain jump up an' take atter de little one an' chase 'im 'roun' an' 'roun,' an' he mus' er kotch 'im, kaze bimeby de big pain retch down an' grab dis yer lef' leg—so—an' haul 'im up, an' den he retch down an grab de udder one an' pull him up, an' den de wah begun, sho nuff. Fer mighty nigh fo' hours dey kep' up dat racket, an' des ez soon ez a little pain 'ud jump up de big un 'ud light onter it an' gobble it up, an' den de big un 'ud go sailin' roun' huntin' fer mo'. Some fokes is mighty cu'us, dough. Nex' mornin' I hear Miss Sally a laughin', an' singin' an' a w'isslin' des like dey want no watermillions raise in Flurridy. But somebody better pen dis yer nigger boy up w'en I'm on de town—I kin tell you dat."
XVI. UNCLE REMUS PREACHES TO A CONVERT
"DEY tells me you done jine de chu'ch," said Uncle Remus to Pegleg Charley.
"Yes, sir," responded Charley, gravely, "dat's so."
"Well, I'm mighty glad er dat," remarked Uncle Remus, with unction. "It's 'bout time dat I wuz spectin' fer ter hear un you in de chain-gang, an', stidder dat, hit's de chu'ch. Well, dey ain't no tellin' deze days whar a nigger's gwineter lan'."
"Yes," responded Charley, straightening himself up and speaking in a dignified103 tone, "yes, I'm fixin' to do better. I'm preparin' fer to shake worldliness. I'm done quit so'shatin' wid deze w'ite town boys. Dey've been a goin' back on me too rapidly here lately, an' now I'm a goin' back on dem."
"Well, ef you done had de speunce un it, I'm mighty glad. Ef you got 'lijjun, you better hol' on to it 'twel de las' day in de mornin'. Hit's mighty good fer ter kyar' 'roun' wid you in de day time an' likewise in de night time. Hit'll pay you mo' dan politics, an' ef you stan's up like you oughter, hit'll las' longer dan a bone-fellum. But you wanter have one er deze yer ole-time grips, an' you des gotter shet yo' eyes an' swing on like wunner deze yer bull-tarrier dogs."
"Oh, I'm goin' to stick, Uncle Remus. You kin put your money on dat. Deze town boys can't play no more uv dere games on me. I'm fixed104. Can't you lend me a dime105, Uncle Remus, to buy me a pie? I'm dat hongry dat my stomach is gittin' ready to go in mo'nin."
Uncle Remus eyed Charley curiously a moment, while the latter looked quietly at his timber toe. Finally, the old man sighed and spoke106:
"How long is you bin in de chu'ch, son?"
"Mighty near a week," replied Charley.
"Well, lemme tell you dis, now, 'fo' you go enny fudder. You ain't bin in dar long nuff fer ter go 'roun' takin' up conterbutions. Wait ontwell you gits sorter seasoned like, an' den I'll hunt 'roun' in my cloze an' see ef I can't run out a thrip er two fer you. But don't you levy107 taxes too early."
Charley laughed, and said he would let the old man off if he would treat to a watermelon.
XVII. AS TO EDUCATION
As Uncle Remus came up Whitehall Street recently, he met a little colored boy carrying a slate108 and a number of books. Some words passed between them, but their exact purport109 will probably never be known. They were unpleasant, for the attention of a wandering policeman was called to the matter by hearing the old man bawl110 out:
"Don't you come foolin' longer me, nigger. You er flippin' yo' sass at de wrong color. You k'n go roun' yer an' sass deze w'ite people, an' maybe dey'll stan' it, but w'en you come a-slingin' yo' jaw at a man w'at wuz gray w'en de fahmin' days gin out, you better go an' git yo' hide greased."
"What's the matter, old man?" asked a sympathizing policeman.
"Nothin', boss, 'ceppin I ain't gwineter hav' no nigger chillun a hoopin' an' a hollerin' at me w'en I'm gwine long de streets."
"Oh, well, school-children—you know how they are.
"Dat's w'at make I say w'at I duz. Dey better be home pickin' up chips. W'at a nigger gwineter larn outen books? I kin take a bar'l stave an' fling mo' sense inter a nigger in one minnit dan all de schoolhouses betwixt dis en de State er Midgigin. Don't talk, honey! Wid one bar'l stave I kin fa'rly lif' de vail er ignunce."
"Then you don't believe in education?"
"Hit's de ruinashun er dis country. Look at my gal11. De ole 'oman sont 'er ter school las' year, an' now we dassent hardly ax 'er fer ter kyar de washin' home. She done got beyant 'er bizness. I ain't larnt nuthin' in books, 'en yit I kin count all de money I gits. No use talkin', boss. Put a spellin'-book in a nigger's han's, en right den en dar' you loozes a plow-hand. I done had de speunce un it."
XVIII. A TEMPERANCE REFORMER
"Yer come Uncle Remus," said a well-dressed negro, who was standing on the sidewalk near James's bank recently, talking to a crowd of barbers. "Yer come Uncle Remus. I boun' he'll sign it."
"You'll fling yo' money away ef you bet on it," responded Uncle Remus. "I ain't turnin' nothin' loose on chu'ch 'scriptions. I wants money right now fer ter git a pint113 er meal."
'Tain't dat."
"An' I ain't heppin fer ter berry nobody. Much's I kin do ter keep de bref in my own body."
"'Tain't dat, nudder."
"An' I ain't puttin' my han' ter no reckommends. I'm fear'd fer ter say a perlite wud 'bout myself, an' I des know I ain't gwine 'roun' flatter'n up deze udder niggers."
"An' 'tain't dat," responded the darkey, who held a paper in his hand. "We er gittin' up a Good Tempeler's lodge114, an' we like ter git yo' name."
"Eh-eh, honey! I done see too much er dis nigger tempunce. Dey stan' up mighty squar' ontwell dere dues commence ter cramp115 um, an' dey don't stan' de racket wuf a durn. No longer'n yistiddy I seed one er de head men er one er dese Tempeler's s'cieties totin' water fer a bar-room. He had de water in a bucket, but dey ain't no tellin' how much red licker he wuz a totin'. G'long, chile—jine yo' s'ciety an' be good ter yo'se'f. I'm a gittin' too ole. Gimme th'ee er fo' drams endurin' er de day, an' I'm mighty nigh ez good a tempunce man ez de next un. I got ter scuffle fer sump'n t'eat."
XIX. AS A WEATHER PROPHET
UNCLE REMUS was enlightening a crowd of negroes at the car-shed yesterday.
"Dar ain't nuthin'," said the old man, shaking his head pensively116, "dat ain't got no change wrote on it. Dar ain't nothin dat ain't spotted117 befo' hit begins fer ter commence. We all speunces dat p'overdence w'at lifts us up fum one place an' sets us down in de udder. Hit's continerly a movin' an a movin'."
"Dat's so!" "You er talkin' now!" came from several of his hearers.
"I year Miss Sally readin' dis mawnin," continued the old man, "dat a man wuz comin' down yer fer ter take keer er de wedder— wunner deze yer Buro mens w'at goes 'roun' a puttin' up an' pullin' down."
"W'at he gwine do 'roun' yer?" asked one.
"He's a gwineter regelate de wedder," replied Uncle Remus, sententiously. "He's a gwineter fix hit up so dat dere won't be so much worriment 'mong de w'ite fokes 'bout de kinder wedder w'at falls to dere lot."
"He gwine dish em up," suggested one of the older ones, "like man dish out sugar.
"No," answered Uncle Remus, mopping his benign118 features with a very large and very red bandana. "He's a gwineter fix um better'n dat. He's a gwineter fix um up so you kin have any kinder wedder w'at you want widout totin' her home."
"How's dat?" asked some one.
"Hit's dis way," said the old man, thoughtfully. "In co'se you knows w'at kinder wedder you wants. Well, den, w'en de man comes long, w'ich Miss Sally say he will, you des gotter go up dar, pick out yo' wedder an' dere'll be a clock sot fer ter suit yo' case, an' w'en you git home, dere'll be yo' wedder a settin' out in de yard waitin' fer you. I wish he wuz yer now," the old man continued. "I'd take a pa'r er frosts in mine, ef I kotched cold fer it. Dat's me!"
There were various exclamations119 of assent112, and the old man went on his way singing, "Don't you Grieve Atter Me."
XX. THE OLD MAN'S TROUBLES
"WHAT makes you look so lonesome, Brer Remus?" asked a well- dressed negro, as the old man came shuffling120 down the street by James's corner yesterday.
"You er mighty right, I'm lonesome, Brer John Henry. W'en a ole nigger like me is gotter paddle de canoe an' do de fishin' at de same time, an' w'en you bleedzd ter ketch de fish an' dassent turn de paddle loose fer ter bait de hook, den I tell you, Brer John, you er right whar de mink121 had de goslin'. Mars John and Miss Sally, dey done bin gone down unto Putmon County fer ter see der kinfolks mighty nigh fo' days, an' you better bleeve I done bin had ter scratch 'roun' mighty lively fer ter make de rashuns run out even.
"I wuz at yo' house las' night, Brer Remus," remarked Brer John Henry, "but I couldn't roust you outer bed."
"Hit was de unseasonableness er de hour, I speck," said Uncle Remus, dryly. "'Pears unto me dat you all chu'ch deacons settin' up mighty late deze col' nights. You'll be slippin' round arter hours some time er nudder, an you'll slip bodaciously inter de calaboose. You mine w'at I tell you."
"It's mighty col' wedder," said Brer John Henry, evidently wishing to change the subject.
"Col'!" exclaimed Uncle Remus; "hit got pas' col' on der quarter stretch. You oughter come to my house night 'fo' las'. Den you'd a foun' me 'live an' kickin'."
"How's dat?"
"Well, I tell you, Brer John Henry, de col' wuz so col', an' de kiver wuz so light, dat I thunk I'd make a raid on Mars John's shingle122 pile, an' out I goes an totes in a whole armful. Den I gits under de kiver an' tells my ole 'oman fer ter lay 'em onto me like she was roofin' a house. Bimeby she crawls in, an' de shingles123 w'at she put on her side fer ter kiver wid, dey all drap off on de flo'. Den up I gits an' piles 'em on agin, an' w'en I gits in bed my shingles draps off, an' dat's de way it wuz de whole blessid night. Fus' it wuz me up an' den de ole 'oman, an' it kep' us pow'ful warm, too, dat kinder exercise. Oh, you oughter drapt roun' 'bout dat time, Brer John Henry. You'd a year'd sho' nuff cussin'!"
"You don't tell me, Brer Remus!"
"My ole 'oman say de Ole Boy wouldn't a foun' a riper nigger, ef he wer' ter scour124 de country fum Ferginny ter de Alabam'"
XXI. THE FOURTH OF JULY
UNCLE REMUS made his appearance recently with his right arm in a sling17 and his head bandaged to that extent that it looked like the stick made to accompany the Centennial bass-drum. The old man evidently expected an attack all around, for he was unusually quiet, and fumbled125 in his pockets in an embarrassed manner. He was not mistaken. The agricultural editor was the first to open fire:
"It is really singular," remarked a commencement orator127, "that not even an ordinary holiday—a holiday, it seems to me, that ought to arouse all the latent instincts of patriotism128 in the bosom129 of American citizens—can occur without embroiling130 some of our most valuable citizens. It is really singular to me that such a day should be devoted131 by a certain class of our population to broils132 and fisticuffs."
This final moral sentiment, which was altogether an impromptu133 utterance, and which was delivered with the air of one who addresses a vast but invisible audience of young ladies in white dresses and blue sashes, seemed to add to the embarrassment134 of Uncle Remus, and at the same time to make an explanation necessary.
"Dey ain't none er you young w'ite men never had no 'casion fer ter strike up wid one er deze Mobile niggers?" asked Uncle Remus. "'Kaze ef you iz, den you knows wharbouts de devilment come in. Show me a Mobile nigger," continued the old man, an I'll show you a nigger dat's marked for de chain-gang. Hit may be de fote er de fif' er July, er hit may be de twelf' er Jinawerry, but w'en a Mobile nigger gits in my naberhood right den an' dar trubble sails in an' 'gages bode135 fer de season. I speck I'm ez fon' er deze Nunited States ez de nex' man w'at knows dat de Buro is busted up; but long ez Remus kin stan' on his hin' legs no Mobile nigger can't flip111 inter dis town longer no Wes' P'int 'schushun an' boss 'roun' 'mong de cullud fokes. Dat's me, up an' down, an' I boun' dere's a nigger some'rs on de road dis blessid day dat's got dis put away in his 'membunce."
"How did he happen to get you down and maul you in this startling manner?" asked the commencement orator, with a tone of exaggerated sympathy in his voice.
"Maul who?" exclaimed Uncle Remus, indignantly. "Maul who? Boss, de nigger dat mauled me ain't bo'nded yit, an' dey er got ter have anudder war 'fo one is bo'nded."
"Well, what was the trouble?"
"Hit wuz sorter dis way, boss. I wuz stannin' down dere by Mars John Jeems's bank, chattin' wid Sis Tempy, w'ich I ain't seed 'er befo' now gwine on seven year, an' watchin' de folks trompin' by, w'en one er deze yer slick-lookin' niggers, wid a bee-gum hat an' a brass watch ez big ez de head uv a beerbar'l, come long an' bresh up agin me—so. Dere wuz two un um, an' dey went long gigglin' an' laffin' like a nes'ful er yaller-hammers. Bimeby dey come long agin an' de smart Ellick brush up by me once mo'. Den I say to myse'f, 'I lay I fetch you ef you gimme anudder invite.' An', sho' 'nuff, yer he come agin, an' dis time he rub a piece er watermillion rime under my lef' year."
"What did you do?"
"Me? I'm a mighty long-sufferin' nigger, but he hadn't no mo'n totch me 'fo' I flung dese yer bones in his face." Here Uncle Remus held up his damaged hand triumphantly. "I sorter sprained136 my han', boss, but dog my cats if I don't bleeve I spattered de nigger's eyeballs on de groun', and w'en he riz his count'nence look fresh like beef-haslett. I look mighty spindlin' an' puny now, don't I, boss?" inquired the old man, with great apparent earnestness.
"Rather."
"Well, you des oughter see me git my Affikin up. Dey useter call me er bad nigger long 'fo' de war, an hit looks like ter me dat I gits wuss an' wuss. Brer John Henry say dat I oughter subdue137 my rashfulness, an' I don't 'spute it, but tu'n a Mobile nigger loose in dis town, fote er July or no fote er July, an', me er him, one is got ter lan' in jail. Hit's proned inter me."
The End
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1
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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biliousness
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| [医] 胆汁质 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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14
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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16
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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17
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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18
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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19
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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21
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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22
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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24
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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25
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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indigenous
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| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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27
espying
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| v.看到( espy的现在分词 ) | |
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28
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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29
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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30
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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31
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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32
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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33
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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34
culled
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| v.挑选，剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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36
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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37
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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38
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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39
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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40
bantered
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| v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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41
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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42
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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43
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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44
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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45
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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46
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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47
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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48
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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49
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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50
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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51
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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52
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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53
fervidly
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| adv.热情地，激情地 | |
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54
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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55
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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56
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
gouged
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| v.凿( gouge的过去式和过去分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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58
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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59
torpedoes
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| 鱼雷( torpedo的名词复数 )； 油井爆破筒； 刺客； 掼炮 | |
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60
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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61
frailer
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| 脆弱的( frail的比较级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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62
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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63
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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64
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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65
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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66
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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67
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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68
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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69
gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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70
natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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71
emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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72
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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73
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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74
lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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75
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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76
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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77
lathers
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| n.肥皂泡( lather的名词复数 )；紧张；激动；（马的）汗沫v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的第三人称单数 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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78
pone
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| n.玉米饼 | |
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79
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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80
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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81
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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82
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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83
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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84
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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85
jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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86
grits
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| n.粗磨粉；粗面粉；粗燕麦粉；粗玉米粉；细石子，砂粒等( grit的名词复数 )；勇气和毅力v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的第三人称单数 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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87
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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88
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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89
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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90
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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91
sorghum
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| n.高粱属的植物，高粱糖浆，甜得发腻的东西 | |
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92
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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93
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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94
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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95
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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96
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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97
rime
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| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
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98
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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99
capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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101
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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102
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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103
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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104
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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106
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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107
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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108
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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109
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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110
bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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111
flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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112
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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113
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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114
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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115
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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116
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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117
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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118
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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119
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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120
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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121
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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122
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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123
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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124
scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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125
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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126
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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127
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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128
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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129
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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130
embroiling
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| v.使（自己或他人）卷入纠纷( embroil的现在分词 ) | |
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131
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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132
broils
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| v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的第三人称单数 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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133
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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134
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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135
bode
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| v.预示 | |
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136
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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137
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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